


Animal, Animal Blood

by woodwind



Category: Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Anal Fingering, Dom/sub, F/M, Oral Sex, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Sexual Content, Smut, Vaginal Sex, submissive solas
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-03-28
Updated: 2016-03-28
Packaged: 2018-05-29 17:54:53
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,348
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6386431
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/woodwind/pseuds/woodwind
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"Kneel," she orders, voice firm, and it turns his legs to liquid. Written for the DA kink meme.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Animal, Animal Blood

Her heels are frilly little things, with golden thread and tiny button pearls, accented with pink ruffles on the pointed toes, just like the cakes he adores so much. She is wearing the heels - and absolutely nothing else. Solas stands before her, naked, expectant.

In her marked hand, she clutches a line of silken rope, the same color as a storm on the sea. Her hair is loose, tumbling freely over her back, and the evening light catches it like shaken foil. Solas swallows against the knot in his throat. She steps forward, an easy swing of her hips, like she had spent her entire life walking in those shoes.

"Kneel," she orders, voice firm, and it turns his legs to liquid.

He does so, and the edges of her full lips turn up into a smile. The rug is plush against his knees, the fire warm against his back. "Good," her hand, calloused from years of hunting, traces lightly over his bare scalp, the faint hint of her nails wracking his spine with a shudder. That same hand moves over his throat, across his collarbones, down his shoulder. He makes a pleased sound, low in his throat.

She leans toward him, a lock of golden hair spilling over her right breast, her scent filling his nose, making him dizzy. "Hands behind your back," her breath is the faintest breeze against the point of his ear, "Wrists together."

His heart pounds in his ears. She circles behind him, trailing a few fingers down his nape, across the sensitive skin between his shoulder blades. The rope is smooth, supple, thin enough that it will leave marks on the delicate skin of his wrists come morning, but thick enough that the knot feels sturdy.

Lavellan returns to face him, one hand on her jutting hip.

"I spoil you, Solas. It's far more than you deserve."

He nods. "Thank you."

She makes a rumbling sound, like a lazy cat. Her hand cups his jaw, her lacquered nails digging into his cheek. "You remember your watchword?"

His heart thrashes against his ribcage, filling his ears. Thrum. Thrum.

"I remember it."

Her hand retreats, scratching lightly as it goes. "Good," she sighs, tossing her hair over one shoulder. "Let's begin."

He watches as she prowls around him, those heels thudding softly against the rug or clacking against the stone when she steps over it, the golden threads sparkling, catching the firelight. She's wearing some kind of perfume; light, sweet, with a hint of citrus, but it's not enough to mask her own smell, an earthy twang which sets his teeth on edge.

He's practically drooling, and she's barely begun. The thought fills him with less shame than he anticipated.

"I thought for a long while on what to do to you."

He keeps his eyes on her shoes. She hasn't given him permission to look up yet. She circles behind him. There's the sound of a drawer opening, the jangle of bottles, the sigh of something like velvet or satin being unraveled.

Her shoes enter his field of vision again. Against her calf hangs a cord of dark leather. Unbidden, Solas feels his cock twitch, resting semi-erect against one thigh.

"Keep your head still," he can hear the grin in her voice, "And your eyes down."

She wraps the cord around his neck, bringing it through a loop of metal sewn into the opposite end. A collar and a leash, all in one. It feels warm against his throat, pressed firmly against his windpipe, just enough to make breathing difficult, but not enough to choke. She tugs on it, and he moans.

"You like that?"

He takes a ragged breath, cheeks hot. "Yes."

She tugs again, harder, so that his knees scrape lightly against the rug. His breath is coming in frayed pants, the leather cord pressing tighter against his throat. His eyes close, brow furrowing. He swallows another moan. She laughs at him.

"Look at you. If I'd known a leash would have made you so obedient, I would have tried it sooner. Perhaps I'll bring it with me during our next trip to Val Royeaux. Show you off to those prissy nobles. Would you like that, too?"

His lips are dry. His head throbs with the sudden image, of her in those shoes and a flowing gown, leading him through throngs of noblemen and women with the leash, chattering with them as though he didn't exist. He bites his cheek until it bleeds, to distract him from the ache of his cock. "I would like that very much."

“It’s only appropriate. You are a dog, when all is said and done.”

Sweat begins to trickle down his neck, small rivulets which glitter against his ivory skin, though flushed now, a light pink. She steps forward, pressing the delectable point of her shoe against his cock - too light for any real satisfaction, and he moans helplessly as she traces tiny circles into it, as careful as it if were her little finger.

She yanks on the leash. "Gods-" he begins, but she jerks it again, cutting him off.

"What are you, Dread Wolf?"

His mind scrabbles wildly for any scrap of a word. "A dog," Solas manages, brokenly, thighs beginning to tremble.

Her answering sigh is the flutter of birds. She withdraws her foot, loosening her grip on the leash.

"Move back on your knees until you feel the bed. Keep your eyes down, Wolf. What do you say?"

"Yes, Keeper."

She follows him as he shuffles back on his knees, the rug scraping, until he can feel the edges of the bedding against his thighs. He keeps his head down, eyes fixated on her ankles, longing to trace them with his tongue, his teeth, and not just his gaze.

"You're so good tonight. Now, I'm going to let you pleasure me. You may make as much noise as you like, and if you're adequate, I may pleasure you as well. Don't disappoint me, Dread Wolf. Remember who keeps you."

Her hand pushes against his shoulder, until his back is pressed against the mattress, low enough that he can rest his head on the edge. She climbs over him, allowing him a glance of her slender legs, her breasts as they bounce with the movement. She spreads her legs, ankles resting on each side of his head, so his face is aligned perfectly with her cunt, shining with her slick, the lips slightly parted.

Without tenderness, she grinds her cunt into his mouth, against his nose, the heavy scent of her arousal flooding his nostrils. Solas groans, deep in his chest, eyes closing tight. She's soft and unbelievably wet; he licks her opening in one firm swipe, coating his tongue with her, his nose rubbing softly against her clit.

Lavellan moans, pleased. She rocks against his face, a brutal pace that barely leaves him time to breathe, rubbing in wide circles, so that he can take her clit in his mouth and suck, roll his tongue against it, brush it with his teeth in just the way she likes.

"You'll have to do better than that to make me come," she grunts, voice edging on a scream. Her thighs clamp over his head, enveloping him in her taste, her smell, the feel of her all around him, but not enough, not when his cock pounds so painfully, utterly neglected. He ruts uselessly against the air, moaning and whimpering against her, as he thrusts his tongue as hard and fast as he can into the well of her cunt, never leaving her clit unattended to, letting her crush herself into his face as hard as she wants. The bed begins to rock and squeak with her movements, the headboard slamming against the wall in her furor.

She wriggles against his face, thrusting in short little strokes, and he can do nothing but let her, even as his vision clouds with stars and his head feels light, sucking and biting her clit between fucking her with his tongue, and there it is - her thighs quiver and there's a gush of liquid against his mouth, dripping down his chin as if he'd just downed a full tankard of ale.

He hears her slump forward, breathing hard. Solas gasps, face red, cheeks and chin shining with her wetness. He licks his lips, as if the first taste of her wasn't enough, before he hears her shuffle off the bed, the leash back in her hand.

"Stand. You may look at me."

Though his legs feel like water, he does, the slightest brush of his cock against his own thigh drawing a hiss through his teeth. It bobs between them, flushed deep red, the foreskin pushed back from the supple head. She doesn't touch him, and he stifles a whine.

Her cheeks are a wonderful shade of pink, the same as her lips, the flush spread wide across her throat and pert breasts, the nipples hard, daring him to lean down and suck at them until she moaned and whimpered.

She must have read the thoughts on his face, because she pushes him down onto the mattress without so much as a word, kicking his legs open with one knee. She reaches for a satchel by his head; the velvet he had heard from earlier. She withdraws a bottle of fluid and - his mouth goes completely dry - a metal phallus as thick as her wrist, flared at the base, with little nubs clustered around the head.

Lavellan sits back on her heels and smiles, bright as can be.

She cups the phallus in one palm as she might his own cock, running her thumb along the underside. “Once I ready you with my fingers, I’m going to fuck you with this, Dread Wolf. And after I’m done fucking you, you will beg me to fuck you again. Understood?”

His voice is little more than a croak when he says, breathlessly, “Yes, Keeper.”

She lets the leash fall from her fingers, only to push them between his throat and the collar, urging him up again, a palm against his back, until he rests on all fours before her, head lowered to the sheets.

He hears her uncork the bottle, and he groans without shame or decency when her finger circles his asshole, the other hand cupped warmly over his thigh to better spread him open. This isn’t the first time she’s done this, so her finger slips in with ease, all the way to the knuckle, and she rotates it just like that, and he bucks furiously back into her hand, shouting her name in one hoarse breath.

It’s good, but not enough, and her laughter fills his head like thunder, and then she strikes his ass with a brutal smack. “You don’t get to come. Not until I say you can. I am going to wring every last moan and whimper from you until then.”

Solas feels his mind slowly fraying, a desperate cacophony of please, please, please, but the words die on his lips when a second finger joins the first, curling down to touch the very tips against his prostate, a feathery tease which makes his cock jump, hanging heavily between his legs.

She pumps them in and out of him a few times, fanning them to better loosen him, and then there’s a third finger, stretching and pulling, and distantly he hears an obscene, pornographic moan spill from his mouth, which almost sounds like her name.

There’s a wet squelch of oil as she draws them out of him, until just the tips remain, pressing down in a way that lights his spine in both fire and frost, but her other hand keeps him from rocking back into her, to seek more pleasure she hasn’t yet allowed him.

She’s saying something, but he can’t hear it over the blood in his ears, then she’s pressing the toy against him, pushing it past the rim in a single, slow stroke, the nubs around it rubbing deliciously against him, lighting all manner of stars and colors behind his eyelids.

He’s begging her in a language so old not even he remembers its true meaning, gasping and sobbing her name in intervals, as she eases the toy in him little by little, rotating it as she goes.

“Wonderful. You’re lovely on your hands and knees like this, Wolf, letting me fuck you like the animal you are,” she punctuates the last word with a shallow pump of the toy, “Is that how you entered the ranks of the Creators? By letting them fuck you dry?”

By now any sense of reason or protest has left him, and Solas finds himself agreeing, “Yes, yes, fenhedis lasa, yes, anything, anything...!” Then she’s shoving the phallus into him in one savage roll, brushing his prostate in the lightest of touches, then grinding down on it until his voice goes hoarse with the screaming.

And just when it feels like his brain will come clean out of his skull, just when his spine feels like melting with the pleasure, she withdraws the toy in one go, leaving him suddenly empty and wanting, sweating so profusely it falls down onto the satin sheets, his cock dripping a veritable river of pre-cum.

He wants to scream. The sound is trapped in his heaving chest, bitten down only by the teeth in his lower lip.

Her palm rubs flat against his back, fingers curling up around the base of his head once or twice, until he catches his breath and the pounding of his heart slows, just enough that he can hear her speak again.

“What do you say to me, Dread Wolf?”

He licks his lips as if to moisten them, though it offers no reprieve. “Thank you, Keeper,” his voice is reedy, “Please fuck me again.”

Her nails scratch down his left side, bringing thin lines of red with them, bright against the paleness of his skin.

He hears the shuffle of cloth again. After a moment, her hand reaches down to grasp his cock in tight fingers, the other slipping a smooth, polished ring of wood over it; there’s an enchantment imbued with in it, and once it slips comfortably to the base it tightens, trapping the blood and any hope of his release.

“Roll onto your back for me.”

The command is an easy one to follow, because his limbs are trembling anyway. The plush bedding is soft against his back, though it sticks to him with how much sweat remains on his skin. The pillows are equally comfortable as he lays his head on them.

The sight of her steals his breath; there’s a smile on her lips, her cheeks pink with pleasure, and her hair is tussled in just the way that he can imagine his hands in it, were they not still bound behind his back.

He can’t keep his mind on her hair for long; the ring around his cock tightens ever so lightly, drawing a sharp hiss of mixed pain of pleasure from him, his back arching off the bed.

“Please,” Solas gasps, straining against the silken rope. His cock bounces freely against his stomach, sweat dripping into the hollow of his navel. Lavellan makes a sound almost like a sigh, her hand drifting down his chest, twinging one nipple, then the other, until gooseflesh erupts all along his chest.

“Please what?” He can hear the giggle on her breath.

“Fuck me!”

She clucks her tongue, sinks her nails into the sensitive flesh of his ribs. “Would you like me to fuck you with the toy again? My cunt? My mouth? Be specific.”

He tosses his head against the pillows, near-to sobbing. “Anything. Please. Please. Let me come, Keeper, with your cunt or your mouth or your fingers inside me, anything, please!”

Her smile is no longer warm. “I might,” she says, twirling a lock of her hair, “But why should I make you come when you’ve only pleasured me once? Perhaps I’ll fuck your cock until I come again, and see how I feel after? What do you say to that?”

Solas doesn’t even know what he says, whether he’s begging or protesting or both, has no time to, because she swings her legs on either side of his hips, balanced on those tiny heels, and sinks down onto him in a tortuous slide. She’s so wet that a trail of her slick clings to her lips when she pulls up again, and she leans back in such a way that he can see his cock disappearing into her with each stroke, her stiff clit peeking out from its hood.

All he can do is thrash and moan, kicking the blankets to the floor, as she holds his shoulders and slams back down onto his cock, up again, slow, sinuous strokes that tug relentlessly on his foreskin, the head almost popping free on occasion. She pays it no mind, keeping the rhythm even as he pleads, whines and begs for more, promising hours of fucking her into the mattress if she would just let him come, of filling her with his seed as many times as she wished it, if she would only let him rut into her and claim his release.

She rocks against him with such force he’s sure the bed will simply break, splinter like his mind under her touch, her thrusts punctuated by her sweet moans or sighs, before she changes the pace, no longer thrusting but grinding, crushing her clit against his pelvis, his cock as far into her as it will go.

He thinks he hears his name on her lips when she comes the first time, then a curse on the second, the third making her cunt grip him so fiercely that he almost comes; it’s an orgasm without a true finish, good enough that the tingling in his spine shoots upward, not so good that he actually spills, which makes it worse, yet somehow so, so much better.

The room absolutely spins; he’s floating on a wave of euphoria not even magic could induce, every nerve tingling, alight from within. The pain in his cock is so intense that he barely feels it now, not even when he watches her remove the ring with heavy-lidded eyes, as she bends down to suck it, her tongue against the frill of skin behind the head. It takes only a few seconds of this before he comes, finally, with more of a whisper than a moan, shooting down her throat as she bobs her head.

His cum is frothy and thick when it leaks from between her lips, rolls down the shaft of his still flushed cock as Lavellan withdraws, her marked hand pumping him gently, the other cupped snugly around his balls, easing every last drop from them.

She lays beside him, running a few fingers over his brow, laying a few fleeting kisses on his lips, letting his tongue into her mouth when he finally catches his breath. She maneuvers him so she can remove the collar, his throat already marked by it, then the ropes, his muscles twitching as he brings his arms around her.

Lavellan kicks the heels off, signifying the end of their game.

“You were amazing, Solas. Just what I wanted.”

He breathes deep the scent of her, the perfume which lingers on her skin beneath her sweat, the heady smell of her arousal. He’s so tired he can’t even open his eyes to look at her, the kind of tired that sleep can’t quench.

“Thank you. As were you. Exquisite.”

She kisses his cheek. He feels her fingertips flutter over his throat. “Do you need a potion? A salve? I sometimes forget how sensitive your skin is...”

Blindly, he reaches for her hand to kiss it, shaking his head. “No. Leave them. Let people talk tomorrow. I dare them.”

She rests her head on his shoulder, curling one leg over his. “Alright. Sleep well, vhenan. I will see you in the morning.”


End file.
